


absolute nobody

by juliabaccari



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/pseuds/juliabaccari
Summary: Modern AU in which Marya is a recently divorced, recently out-of-the-closet lesbian visiting her first gay bar. Guess who the bartender is.





	absolute nobody

It may be a bad idea, but she’s full of them, lately. She craves bad ideas. Chases them, hunts them down, and follows their every whim.

She’s just going through a phase.

And anyway, what else is a 34 year old recently divorced and recently out of the closet woman supposed to do, other than go to her first lesbian bar by herself, get terribly drunk, and find some random woman to hook up with?

For the first time. 

She’s 34 and she’s never - she’s never even kissed the type of person she actually wants to kiss. She married young and stupid fresh out of college, having dated her husband since high school, having been so sure that was what she wanted.

Until he touched her, that night after the wedding - their perfect, fairytale wedding - and she was suddenly so sure that he couldn’t ever be what she wanted.

She kept that secret so long.

She couldn’t keep it any longer.

(things fall apart, the center cannot hold, this thought never leaves her brain)

So Marya is here now, unfettered from secrets and ready to have the experiences she missed out on for over a decade. 

She’s just not sure where to begin.

With vodka, probably.

She enters the bar without issue. No one glances at her funny, like she shouldn’t here, like she clearly doesn’t fit in. No one looks at her at all. It’s a Thursday night, crowded enough but not packed, and she finds a spot at the bar without much issue.

The bartender is facing away from her, re-arranging some bottles on the opposite wall. She’s petite - she stands on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf. She’s wearing overalls - loose and short, but overalls, which is not exactly what Marya would expect from a bartender. 

Then she turns around, and Marya’s eyes go instantly to her chest, and she understands the outfit choice. The overalls barely cover her torso at all, and the bartender is wearing a bralette so slinky and lacey it’s basically lingerie. 

Marya has no idea how everyone in the world didn’t know she was gay. She is so, so gay.

“Ooh, look at you, you beautiful thing. You’re new here.” Marya’s eyes jump up, and the bartender is closer, all sparkling brown eyes and the most delicious smirk Marya’s ever seen. Her heart stops. She forces herself to remain composed. “Can I get you anything?”

“I -”

“And I do mean anything.” The woman winks, and Marya feels a little heat creep up her neck. She reminds herself that it’s basically this woman’s job to flirt with her. She doesn’t mean it, she’s just angling for tips.

“A vodka. Neat. Top shelf.” Marya responds, keeping her voice level. The bartender arches an eyebrow, but nods.

“Alright. I like a woman who knows what she wants.” She flashes a grin and then goes back to her bottles, curls bouncing. 

Marya is utterly out of her depths here. She’s not about to make that obvious, however. When the bartender returns with her drink she accepts it, and doesn’t so much as flinch when the woman deliberately brushes their fingers together exchanging the glass.

“Don’t you need my card?” Marya asks.

“This one’s on the house. Consider it a little welcoming gift.”

“How do you know I’m new here? Perhaps I’ve been here before, and I’m swindling you.”

“Oh, I’d remember that face.” The woman winks. “And it’s my brother’s bar, I’m almost always here.” She points to a sign above the bar, the name of the place, “Kuragin”, etched out in neon letters. 

“So you’re a Kuragin.”

“Kuragina, technically. My family keeps to Russian naming traditions, though god knows none of us have been to Russia in generations.” She shrugs a shoulder. “You can call me Hélène, though.”

“Hélène. That’s a beautiful name.” Marya says, feeling the word roll over her tongue.

“Thanks. Does it earn me the right to know yours?” 

“Marya.” On instinct, Marya offers her hand to shake, although she realizes quickly it’s too formal a gesture for this environment. Hélène laughs and takes it in her own, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. Marya does not blush.

“Charmante.”

“That is not how you pronounce that.”

Hélène laughs again and drops her hand. “Maybe you can teach me how to say it right some time.” She winks again. It’s absurd how often this woman winks. Marya has never seen flirting so heavy-handed, and it’s frustrating, because it’s all for show. She wishes it were so easy - that she could just walk in here and find some woman instantly enraptured and willing to do terrible things to her.

But it’s not. Marya is older, clearly inexperienced, not exactly prime bar pickings. God, she hates this type of thing. It’s probably why she agreed to get married so easily. The idea of dating - of searching - all over again was too exhausting.

“Or you could take proper classes.”

Hélène laughs again, as if delighted. “Oh, I like you, Marya. I hope this isn’t your last visit here.”

“I suppose that depends on the experience.” Marya says frankly. It only makes Hélène’s grin widen.

“I’m sure we can make it a good one, ma belle. Ah, excuse me, duty calls.” Hélène glances across the bar, where another patron is waving her over. “I’ll be back, don’t you worry.” 

As she leaves, Marya lets herself watch the sway of Helene’s hips. It looks deliberate, showy. It’s still effective. 

Marya barely has time to glance around the bar or take a sip of her drink before Hélène is back.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything more...fancy? I’d love to show off for you a bit. Really. I can make just about anything.” Hélène says, leaning forward deliberately over the bar top. Marya lets her eyes drop, since it’s clear Hélène is inviting a look.

“I’m sure you’re very talented.” Marya says, keeping her voice deliberately dry. “But I don’t usually drink anything sugary.”

“Just one, maybe? I’ll make you your very own drink. Marya inspired.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m very intuitive.” Hélène’s smile is addictive. She’s easily the most beautiful woman Marya has ever seen, and that’s saying something, considering the glow of neon lights isn’t exactly flattering on most people. “Something red, I think - with a bite, a bit of fire? Simple, not overdone, but makes a statement. Sexy and strong.”

Marya raises her eyebrows. “Well, that sounds...good.” She says finally. She kind of wants to know what Helene’s mouth tastes like. She wants to know if her skin would feel as soft under Marya’s fingertips as it looks.

“Consider it done.” Hélène taps Marya’s glass with her fingertip. “Finish that up while you’re waiting for me. I won’t be long.” 

Marya takes Helene’s advice, taking a healthy drink from the glass as she watches Hélène prepare her drink. She doesn’t recognize all of the bottles Helene pulls out, and she’s moving fast enough that Marya couldn’t track the ingredients even if she wanted to.

She’s done with her vodka when Hélène returns, enjoying the warmth from the alcohol in her chest. The glass Hélène places in front of her is tall, the liquid inside a bold scarlet. It’s topped with a cherry.

“The cherry doesn’t really go with the flavor, but it’s fun.” Hélène tells her.

“Are you going to do that cherry stem trick for me?” Marya asks, despite herself. Helene’s eyes glitter.

“I actually can’t. But there are other things I can do with my tongue…”

“Right.” Marya ducks her head a bit and pulls the drink towards her, trying to hide the flush of her cheeks. 

Helene’s eyes are on Marya’s as she takes her first sip. Something sweet rolls over tongue, first, but then she’s hit with a burst of something warm and hot - whiskey, cinnamon, inspiring a smoky flavor on her tongue.

“Wow, that’s -”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s good. It’s - strong.”

“Just like you.”

Marya laughs, but it’s low on amusement. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Helene’s expression is considering. “I don’t think I am.” 

Marya blinks, a little taken aback, but before she can open her mouth to respond she’s interrupted by the arrival of a bearded man with kohl-lined eyes and a flashy smile.

“Yelena, just what are you up to?” He says, slinging an arm around Helene’s waist and pulling her into his side. She laughs, and Marya drops her eyes, feeling suddenly disappointed. Which is unreasonable, really. 

“What does it look like, Fedya? I’m bartending.” Helene responds. Marya suddenly feels a hand on her own, and she looks up again - Helene’s warm brown eyes are locked on her. “Making this lovely woman a drink.”

“Yes, making her a drink, and no one else. Anatole sent me over here because he suspects you are neglecting the other customers.” This man - Fedya - looks to Marya and smiles. “You must be quite the charmer to have distracted our Helene so terribly. She’s usually bulletproof when she’s working.”

“I’m not very charming,” is all Marya can think to say, but it makes Fedya laugh. Helene’s hand has not moved from Marya’s.

“She’s also ridiculously humble for being the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” Helene says. Her thumb swipes gently across the back of Marya’s hand. Marya does not acknowledge the shiver it sends down the back of her spine. “This is Fyodor Dolokhov, by the way - my brother’s boyfriend. Fedya - this is Marya, the world’s most beautiful woman and the only one deserving of attention at my bar.”

“All well and good, but we’re losing money thanks to your shenanigans. Go dance with her or something, I’ll take over here.” Dolokhov says and gently pushes Helene away. Marya is still processing the amount of compliments Helene has just - apparently sincerely - thrown her way.

Helene grins and presses a kiss to Dolokhov’s cheek. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me, you owe me a favor.”

“Mmhmm.” Helene turns back to Marya, and the full force of her smile threatens to derail Marya entirely. “So what do you say sweetheart, wanna dance?”

“I don’t -”

“Don’t tell me you don’t dance, I know those hips can move, I saw you walk in here.”

Marya feels a flush on her cheeks and neck. She’s almost annoyed at how easily she reacts to Helene.

“Fuck it.” She mutters, half under her breath, and rises from her barstool. She’s tall enough that it’s easy to lean over the counter and take one of the straps of Helene’s overalls between her thumb and forefinger. It’s easy to put a little bit of pressure on the fabric, to tug a surprised Helene forward just enough so that Marya can kiss her. 

So she does it. 

Marya, as inexperienced as she is here, has never been one to let herself flounder publicly. If she’s gotten herself into this, she’ll go through it with confidence.

She may not have kissed a girl, but she knows how to kiss. She’s got a direct style, but it works for her - and it definitely, definitely works with Helene. Her lips are so soft under Marya’s. Marya feels Helene’s hands on her shoulders, fingertips pressing in, as she kisses back.

They break apart to a low whistle - Fedya, presumably. Helene is smiling, lips gloriously red, eyes bright. 

“Well, that was certainly unexpected.” She says, sounding delighted. “And extremely welcome.”

“So. That dance?” Marya says, struggling to keep a composed expression when what she wants most is to grin and laugh and just - shout - because she’s done it, she’s kissed a woman, and it was perfect.

“Of course.” Helene slips out from behind the bar and comes to Marya’s side. 

Helene slides her hand into Marya’s.

“Ready?”

Marya has never been more ready. It may be just a small step forward in her new life or the answer she’s been waiting for all along, but she’s ready.

Helene smiles at her, and it’s like the arrival of a gift Marya has been waiting for her whole life.

She steps into the crowd holding her hand. It’s the best idea she’s had in years.


End file.
